


Filthy

by Caprichoso



Category: Hunter X Hunter
Genre: Angst, Gen, death mention
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-03
Updated: 2016-06-03
Packaged: 2018-07-12 01:10:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,798
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7078291
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Caprichoso/pseuds/Caprichoso
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A careless word to a stranger can have far greater consequences than just a scuffle on a ship's deck.</p>
<p>Takes place after the storm in Episode 1.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Filthy

**Author's Note:**

  * For [spiceblogging](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=spiceblogging).



> I realized, after several months, that I never posted this piece beyond submitting it to the Secret Santa page on Tumblr.
> 
> This vignette is meant to fit between episodes 1 and 2, and is inspired by Leorio's comment before the fight, along with my own headcanons.

Leorio paced the ship’s corridors, hands deep in his pockets, compelled to wander by the coils of adrenaline squirming in his gut. It had been hours since he and Kurapika had begun their aborted duel to the death, hours since they had parted ways, but even now, in the wee hours of the morning, sleep eluded him. The bunks and hammocks were filled with weaklings, moaning and groaning for the trip to be over; there was no way he would be able to rest with the sounds of the sick. It brought back too many memories, sparked tinder he needed to conserve. He needed his passion to stay ready for when he needed it, his resolve fresh for the exam. And so he walked, searching for something– a place to sleep, a kindred spirit to share the hours until they reached shore. It didn’t matter, so long as he found somewhere or someone.

  
It was this journey that brought him to the most remote reaches of the cargo hold, where amid the creaking of timbers and the rush of the waves, a distant glow trickled from the blackness. Curious, he followed it past pallets, through narrow corridors that could crush him if the cargo were to shift. There, in the furthest corner, light came from a solitary lantern on the deck. There was no reason for there to be any sort of illumination in this area; a passenger must have placed it.

  
Following the light to its source, Leorio looked around, but the small circle that the lantern provided revealed nothing. Closing his eyes, he listened, stretching his senses to the limit to catch a trace of another soul. As if in response, the sound of a shuddering breath echoed from the corner, and he followed. The dimmest flickers of flame illuminated a figure, still but for a simple back-and-forth motion. Leorio recognized the garb, the decorative pattern in the fabric– Kurapika.

  
His hands were running along a meter-long length of wood, a rhythm that might be considered leisurely if Kurapika’s whole body had not been wound tight to the point of trembling. He didn’t look up, even when Leorio cleared his throat.

  
“Y'know,” Leorio remarked as he stepped forward, “You should really bring that lantern closer. All this darkness is bad for your–” Kurapika’s head snapped up, drawing an involuntary gasp from Leorio. “…Eyes,” Leorio finished, swallowing hard and fisting his hands in his pockets, suppressing the urge to take a defensive stance.

  
Hearing about the Kurta people’s scarlet eyes was one thing, but nothing could have prepared him for how they looked in person. They glowed– really, truly _glowed_ – and a tiny voice in Leorio’s head reminded him that in nature such vivid colors were a near-universal warning: _deadly, stay away_. In fact, he had taken an involuntary step backward before another detail became apparent in the darkness.  
The color of Kurapika’s eyes was unusual, certainly, and the glow was off-putting at best, but there was something in that gaze that Leorio knew all too well. That distant, unfocused look, so filled with pain that it had turned to hollowness– after Pietro’s death, that expression had haunted Leorio’s mirror for months.

  
“What’s wrong?” The words escaped before Leorio’s mind even registered them, but as they hung in the space between him and Kurapika, it wasn’t regret that went crawling along his spine and through his stomach. Far from it.

  
Those eyes grew a touch more focused, but the awful hollowness remained. “Nothing,” Kurapika said, voice even huskier than usual. “I’m busy. Go away.”

  
Leorio took his hands from his pockets and crossed his arms. “No can do,” he said, stepping closer. “We might end up having to be partners for this exam, which means we’d better start trusting each other. You can start by telling me what’s wrong.”

  
“I told you, nothing’s wrong.” Kurapika’s grip tightened on his practice sword.

  
“And I’m telling _you_ you suck at lying,” Leorio shot back. With a sigh, he gave one of his signature shrugs. “Look, forgetting about the exam for a minute, I feel like you’re a good guy. There aren’t too many of those in the world from what I’ve seen. Depending on how things pan out, I was thinking maybe we could end up being friends one day, y'know?” As a blank stare greeted his words, he switched tactics. “Well, if you don’t want to tell me _what_ , at least tell me _who_ hurt you so I can kick their ass, okay?”

  
A snort echoed through the cargo hold, and Kurapika bowed his head. “That’s physically impossible.”

  
Leorio bristled. “Hey, you’ve never even seen me fight! You can’t just write me off like that without–”

  
“Not what I meant.” With that, Kurapika returned to stroking the lacquered wood in his hands, movements more forceful than before.

  
The growl that rumbled in Leorio’s throat would have been enough to intimidate the toughest thug in his hometown; Kurapika didn’t even flinch. “Quit being so damn cryptic,” he spat, index finger jabbing the air as he closed the gap between them, towering over the seated boy. “What do you mean, physically impossible? If you’re not insulting my skills, that just leaves two options. One, the person isn’t around anymore, or two, the person is…” He trailed off, blinking as his arms dropped to his sides. “Me,” he finished.

  
Kurapika’s hands stilled, and an infinitesimal shudder ran through his body; that was all the confirmation Leorio needed.

  
“What’d I do, Kurapika?” Leorio’s voice rang plaintive in his own ears, but he didn’t care how he sounded, not when his would-be friend was hurting because of him. The silence hanging in the air between them filled Leorio’s lungs, so much heavier than air, threatening to suffocate him. With a painful effort, he exhaled, drew another breath to try again. “If… if you don’t want to talk about it, I get it. It would just really help if I knew what I did wrong, so that I can never do it again.” He swallowed hard, squatting down to bring them eye to eye. “Please, Pika?”

  
Faster than Leorio could blink, lacquered wood pressed against his throat. “Do. Not. Call me that,” Kurapika grated. “Only one person in this world has ever been allowed to call me that, and I buried her with my own two hands.”

  
Eyes widening, Leorio bit his lip to hold back a curse. “Wow, I’m just hitting all the worst spots, aren’t I?” he murmured. He let out a deep sigh, guilt squirming in his chest. “For what it’s worth, I really am sorry. I’ll just… I’ll just go now. If you need anything–”

  
Just as Leorio braced his hands against the ground to rise, the sword clattered to the floor and a hand grasped the sleeve of his jacket, tugging with just enough force to keep him grounded. Silence reigned again, but this time it was Kurapika who broke it, words creeping out slow and tremulous. “Did you know the Kurta traditionally bathe at least once a day, often more?”

  
Leorio cocked his head, a thousand half-formed questions dancing on his tongue, but he held them back and shook a negative.

  
Kurapika gave him a bittersweet smile, deep scarlet eyes giving way to a muted pink. “We were originally a nomadic people, wandering through various nations, but our clan always followed the river unless absolutely necessary. Cleanliness is one of the key tenets of life as a Kurta.” His hand dropped away, hanging limp as his arm rested on his knee. “Still, people assumed that since we lived in the woods, isolated from technology, we had to be dirty. In Lukso province, they have an expression: _filthy as a Kurta_. I had heard from the Elder that people used the expression, but the first time I heard it in person…” Kurapika struggled for another breath, choking halfway through as pure scarlet flared in his eyes once again. “I had just buried them all. I was living on the streets, begging and stealing to survive and just barely succeeding. There wasn’t even enough to eat; bathing so far from the river was as good as impossible. A man passing by spat on me and called me filthy as a Kurta, and I snapped.” He swallowed hard, shaking his head gently. “From grief, yes, from the insult, certainly, but most of all, because in that moment, even as I beat him unconscious, I knew I was proving him right. The last of the Kurta, and I was as filthy as he thought my entire clan had been.”

  
Realization slammed into Leorio hard enough to make him gasp. What he’d said before their duel, words spoken intending to strike fear, had instead struck something far deeper.  "I’m sorry,“ he blurted, "I’m so sorry! I didn’t–”

  
“It makes me wonder,” Kurapika continued in a trancelike monotone, eyes vacant and blazing purest scarlet, looking straight through Leorio. “When the Spiders killed my family, did they know that saying too? Did they use it? Was the last thing my mother heard as they tortured her to death… was it someone telling her she was filthy?”

  
The sound Leorio made in the back of his throat was dangerously close to a sob. “Kurapika, I’m sorry. So damn sorry. I had no idea; no matter how pissed off I was, I would never have said something like that if I had known.”

  
That distant gaze regained focus, going rosy pink once more, and Kurapika favored him with a little nod. “I know, Leorio. That’s why I’m going to forgive you.” His next breath sent a ragged shudder through his entire body, and he bowed his head, hiding his eyes from view once more. “Now go. I want to be alone.”

  
Possessed by an unusual boldness, even for him, Leorio brought a hand to rest on Kurapika’s knee. “You’re hurting,” he insisted. “Let me be there for you.”

  
Kurapika shook his head, brushing off Leorio’s hand without looking up. “You haven’t earned the right to see my tears yet,” he whispered, the tremulous notes it carried betraying his state. Anything above that whisper, and his voice would crack. “You said you want to be my friend; if you truly mean that, respect my wishes. Go, Leorio.”

  
Leorio tensed, mouth opening to reply, but with a painful effort, he restrained himself, giving a single nod before he stood. As he walked toward the lantern, toward the light and the rest of the ship and away from the soul whose suffering he had caused, the muted, percussive sounds of sobs held back reached his ears. When he left, Kurapika would begin in earnest. A deep sigh made Leorio’s shoulders rise and fall; a whispered, “Someday,” and he was gone.


End file.
